


Of Ripped Sleeping Bags

by FrancesHouseman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sibling Incest, Tent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesHouseman/pseuds/FrancesHouseman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're camping in August and feel the need for a little extra body heat in the witching hour...</p><p>Probably underage, depending upon where you live. It's pre-Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Ripped Sleeping Bags

 

Dean wakes to a cold Sam stealthily invading the warm sleeping space of Dean’s body. They’d spread the sleeping bags unzipped over them to sleep but the heat of the day is long gone by now, ebbing away as the moon rose. A midnight chill has settled in and Dean’s feet are cold. He feels it on his back and shoulders. Sam has left his own sleeping bag for the comfort under Dean’s, nestling his head under Dean’s chin and shoving cold hands under Dean’s t-shirt to push against the warm skin of his belly.

 

“Ooff! Cold feet Sammy,” Dean says in an urgent whisper. They need to be quiet because their father’s tent is pitched a few yards from their own. Sam’s giant freezing feet are pushing between Dean’s calves like ice blocks. Apparently his calves aren’t big or warm enough because Sam slides his feet right up until they’re nestled high between Dean’s thighs, Sam curled into a ball. Dean makes an undignified squeak and his balls shrink up into his body inside his shorts, but he doesn’t try to push Sam away.

 

He pulls Sam closer and works his other hand under Sam’s t-shirt, onto Sam’s belly, which is lovely and sleepy-warm. They lie there for a while, testing the temperature and Dean thinks he needs to get Sam’s sleeping bag over them as a second layer. When he reaches for it Sam tugs at his t-shirt, pulling him back, “Let’s get in,” he whispers, breath moist against Dean’s neck.

 

The moon isn’t full yet but there is enough light to see by, even through the canvas of their tent.

 

“In one?” Dean doesn’t think they’re going to fit. They twist, roll and shove Dean’s sleeping bag so that they’re lying on it and Dean wraps it around him. If they press together then he can just get the zip to meet behind Sam’s back. He sits up and zips their feet together.

 

“Wait,” Sam says, keeping his voice low. He strips off his t-shirt and shorts, slowly, giving Dean an expectant look and time to protest. Dean feels trepidation war with a yearning to touch Sam’s body. His little brother is asking for something here that can’t be brushed off in the morning. There’s a challenge in Sam; a confidence about him, sure that Dean will give him this. Dean does. He pulls off his own shorts and t-shirt, draws Sam to him and bends around to zip up the bag.

 

It’s tight and the zip strains along Sam’s back. Their bodies are pressed flush, Sam’s arms trapped by his sides, Dean’s hands up at Sam’s shoulder where the zip ends. One of Sam’s hands creeps onto Dean’s hip and Dean gives it up and pushes his growing erection against Sam, along Sam’s own. He pulls Sam in harder. It’s so intimate being against Sam like this, something he has craved but not allowed until now. This is a far cry from a helping hand in the dark, fumbling under clothes like they sometimes do. This is being naked with Sam.

 

It’s lovely being this close, their torsos and legs and feet pressed together, dicks squashed between their bellies. Dean is acutely aware of Sam’s scratchy hair and Sam’s balls bumped up against his own. Sam’s hot hard dick, side by side with his own, burns a bright presence in his mind.

 

They lie mostly still, warming up quickly, listening to each other’s breathing and the night time sounds around them, outside the tent. Their hips twitch; small movements that set off hot pulses of pleasure, sparking in Dean’s groin and spreading through his belly and legs. They are almost nose to nose on Dean’s pillow breathing the same air. Sam’s eyes are closed. Dean looks his fill, smells Sam’s sleep-smell and imagines Sam smelling his own breath. A night bird cries and tree branches rustle. Dean thinks that he has never been so awake and aware in the dark before.

 

Dean brushes a kiss against Sam’s top lip where the bow of his mouth meets the skin beneath his nose; where the smell of him is strongest. Sam’s eyes stay closed but he is quick to chase Dean’s lips with his own, keeping them pressed together. Dean’s dick throbs and he realizes his feet are already warmed all the way through. He pulls his head a little way back but the sleeping bag doesn’t allow much. “Sammy,” he says, hushed and low. He wants to get his hands in Sam’s hair but there isn’t room.

 

Sam opens his eyes and Dean sees the vulnerability Sam was hiding. Desire rushes through him. Sam is aroused but lacking confidence, like he wants to kiss Dean but he’s worried about doing it wrong. Dean presses his lips to Sam’s, firm but gentle, focusing in on Sam’s eyes. He does it again, purposefully, tenderly. He kisses Sam and holds it, kisses him again, breaking apart and pushing lingering kisses in a slow, predictable rhythm. Sam’s eyes fall closed. Dean kisses the tension away, their heat bleeding into each other like liquid comfort. He breathes in deeply through his nose, wanting inside Sam’s mouth to taste but holding back, waiting for Sam to give a little. Sam kisses back hesitantly at first but then more firmly, gradually meeting Dean on equal terms, sure of the rhythm, sure of the next kiss.

 

Dean allows his lips to part ever so slightly, so that the hot wet inner part of his lips meet Sam’s, and Sam’s lips fall open with a small gasp. The kisses moisten and Dean holds them together for longer each time, using his tongue to taste just a little at first and then taking more when Sam starts his own exploration of Dean’s lips, Dean’s mouth.

 

Sam’s hips rut, gently, and Sam probably isn’t really aware that he’s doing it, concentrating so hard on their kisses. Dean is hyper-aware of it though, his own dick leaking pre-come, making the place between them slippery. The knowledge that Sam’s dick is sliding around in Dean’s wetness makes Dean harder, hotter; makes them slipperier still.

 

Dean rolls his hips so that he slides with Sam, providing more friction, little circles giving sustained movement. Sam catches on and they move their hips in sync. It’s tantalizingly good, too slippery to get satisfactory friction but enough to get Dean good and worked up. He’s past warmed up and well on his way to too hot. The sleeping bag binds them tightly and Dean thinks of the school bomb in Die Hard with a Vengeance: he and Sam are the liquid ingredients, carefully held apart but now mixing together, a chain reaction starting in the wet heat of their mouths and dicks. He deepens the kiss further and Sam moans into his mouth, answering him in kind, hesitation forgotten.

 

“So hot,” Dean murmers into Sam’s mouth. His face must be red because he can feel the heat coming off his blood-hot cheeks. There’s a buzzy panicky feeling, his body telling him that it’s overheating, feeling trapped by Sam and the sleeping bag, tight around close. It’s unexpectedly exciting and Dean works his top hand and arm down into the delicious heat, wanting to be even hotter and to touch Sam.

 

Dean is already addicted to making Sam come. He wants to hold Sam together and make him fall apart at the same time. It’s a tight squeeze to get his arm between them but not impossible. There’s not much room to move but he can flex his wrist and he knows what Sam likes; knows where to squeeze a little extra pressure along the sides of the shaft and just under the head; knows how to press his fingertips along the underside and rub his forefinger at the frenulum; knows to run his thumb over the slit.

 

“Like it,” Sam whispers, panting by Dean’s ear, “Want to burn.” Sam’s body shudders and Dean’s body absorbs it like a buffer, translating the energy into even more heat. Sweat breaks out under his arms and on his back, arms and legs, between the cheeks of his ass. A drop rolls down his temple and he feels the sting and prickle of it on his neck. Their chests and bellies are hot and slick, his hand sliding in mingled sweat and pre-come.

 

It’s so easy to get Sam close. Dean brings him there, feeling blood and pre-come rush under his hand. He makes it happen by pulling at Sam’s dick just right, feeling the head swell in anticipation. Then he slows down, changing his grip, staving it off, his own dick twitching and throbbing in sympathy. “Come on Sammy, give it up,” he whispers, which isn’t really fair because Dean is in control here. He brings Sam to the edge again, subtly changing his grip before it’s too late. Sam whimpers exposing his throat and Dean accepts the invitation, laying kiss-bites from jaw to shoulder, careful not to leave any marks that won’t fade by morning. “Gonna come all over me Sammy? All over my stomach? Gonna spill all over my dick?”

 

It’s a close call but Dean’s grip lightens and Sam’s orgasm backs away again, Sam making a noise like a muffled sob and glaring at Dean. Dean smiles back, not a hint of a smirk, only genuine affection. “So beautiful like this Sammy,” he croons softly, “Want to keep you just like this forever, so sexy.”

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam whines in frustration, his face is pleading. Strands of hair are plastered to his brow and heat radiates from him like he’s a boiler about to combust. Little puffs of humid air escape the top of the sleeping bag as they shift, brushing past the tender-hot skin of their faces. The smell of Sam’s sex is heady and intoxicating.

 

“Don’t worry baby boy,” Dean whispers feeling reverent, “Gonna give you what you need.” He jerks Sam the way he likes it best, but slowly, reluctant to relinquish control, adding tightness and fingertips in the right places, feeling the rush and swell under his fingers. “Look at me Sammy, let me see.”

 

Sam fights to keep his eyes open and locked with Dean’s as he comes. His brow furrows upwards and it could just as easily be an expression of heartbreak. He bites his lips together to keep silent but can’t quite hold everything in and Dean hears the groan he tries to suppress croaking in his throat. Dean’s expression mirrors Sam’s, except that his mouth falls open to accommodate the heavy breathing he suddenly needs to do. He twists his hand so that it’s over the head of Sam’s dick, catching the come. When it’s finished he tries to get his hand out from between them, wanting to bring it to his mouth, to taste Sam.  Sam traps his hand. “Put it inside me,” he says, hushed and husky, “Use it.”

 

He’s watching Dean’s reaction and Dean doesn’t know what Sam sees but he feels _want_ spike in his chest like a physical pain and thinks that it must show on his face. He has lube in his bag, if this is what Sam wants, but he’s loathe to leave their hot little cocoon. He tries to keep as much of Sam’s come in his hand as possible and pushes it between Sam’s legs, up against his hole. Sam’s whole body is already slippery, awash with sweat. He breaches Sam with one finger, impossibly hotter than the rest of their bodies, withdraws and gathers more come. Dean’s sense of touch zeros in to his forefinger, gripped by Sam’s feverish body and quivering muscles. He forgets to breathe.

 

Dean withdraws and gathers more come, slicking Sam up until he can add a second finger. He gets a hitched inhalation and a choked off moan from Sam as a reward, which he swallows down into a kiss. He scissors and stretches and then draws back to watch Sam’s face, pulling his other arm out from under Sam’s shoulders and clamping a hand over his brother’s mouth. Sam looks momentarily confused. His only warning is Dean’s smug smirk as he angles his shoulder down and shoves his fingers forward to find Sam’s prostate. He finds the spot and rubs at it gently. Sam’s eyes roll back in his head but Dean catches the sounds that spill out of his mouth, wet vibrations tickling his palm. Dean keeps Sam muffled, keeps them quiet, hidden and safe.

 

Sam’s spent dick twitches and rolls between them, refilling part way. Dean wants push his dick inside Sam more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. He wants to fuck Sam, get him hard again on Dean’s dick. He wants to put his dick in Sam’s body and his head under the sleeping bag so that he can be swallowed up completely in the molten heat, like diving into a volcano. His heart races and he pours off sweat as he trembles, his body insisting that he needs to escape. He has never dreamt of being so hot.

 

“ _Hmm huhmm_ ,” Sam is trying to talk against his hand, lips tickling him, so Dean lets him go. “Come on Dean, inside me,” he whispers, “Please? Come on, please…”

 

“Mm _m… Sam…_ ” A broken half-whisper. All that practice at stamina and Dean is going to embarrass himself before he even gets inside.

 

There just isn’t room in the sleeping bag for them to get into a reasonable position. Dean is ready to tear the thing away and lay Sam out but Sam has other ideas. He wriggles his way up Dean, getting his arms out of the bag and around Dean’s shoulders, so that only Dean’s head is free from the sweltering heat. Sam fights with his long legs, getting them up by Dean’s sides one at a time. It’s perfect, Sam under Dean, folded in half and exposed, ass begging for Dean’s dick… until Dean realizes that he can’t get himself lined up right. He bumps and slides against the slick at Sam’s hole but it’s impossible without using his hand. The outer lining of the sleeping bag tears as Dean forces his hand down around Sam’s folded leg but he doesn’t care one bit. Wild horses couldn’t keep him out of Sam now.

 

He throws his head back and fights to stay quiet and in control when he finally, finally manages to get the head of his dick inside Sam. When he’s sure that he’s got it he checks on Sam, wrestling his hand up under Sam’s back to take more of his own weight. A thousand Watts of Sam’s attention are focused on Dean. He looks awed and well-fed at the same time, as though Dean gradually feeding him his dick is going to sustain him through the night. The sex and the heat make him look completely debauched. God, the heat. Dean doesn’t know whether he’s going to come buried in Sam or pass out from the heat first.

 

“S’okay,” Sam whispers but Dean takes it really, really slow, a grip of steel on his self-control. He watches every hint of discomfort cross and clear from Sam’s face, pushing in millimeter by millimeter, stopping often and for as long as he can. His dick isn’t massively long or anything but it takes forever to get all the way inside. Once he’s there, balls deep, he lets his head fall onto Sam, trying to reassure his body that he _can_ breathe, despite the sweltering heat and crazy need to rut into Sam.

 

Sam moves first, tilting and circling his hips. He hisses on an inhale and Dean thinks he must have found his prostate again, judging by the twitching hardening length against his belly. It’s the incentive that Dean needs to start fucking him, carefully at first but driven by Sam’s movements to give him more because Sam’s clearly okay with it, saying, “So good, so good” in his ear. Dean is no virgin but this is completely different from anything he’s had before. Pleasure fills him, Sam grips and milks at his dick but Dean is secondary to Sam. He does everything he can to make it good for Sam, judging his timing and depth by the small huffing noises Sam makes, contorting himself to get the best angle, while simultaneously trying to give Sam some friction on his belly to rub the now-full hardness that Dean dreams about touching and tasting.

 

Dean kisses Sam but his coordination isn’t quite up to the job so he gives in and lets his head rest, feeling close that way. Sam whispers nothings into Dean’s ear, mostly, “God,” and “Dean,” and unintelligible pleased sounds when Dean gets it just right. Dean drives into him harder when he thinks Sam can take it. He feels Sam’s dick throb and twitch between them and thinks that he could get really good at working Sam this way, get him off as easily as he does with his hand, with a bit of practice. Sweat runs into his eyes, his body protesting the extra effort, already at its limits of heat-endurance.

 

One of Sam’s clammy hands covers the back of Dean’s neck and Sam pulls him so that his ear is right up by Sam’s mouth. He says, “Dean,” low and desperate, almost a moan, and then, “Dean,” again. Dean realizes that he’s trying to tell him something and he pushes his chin forwards, hoping that it’s enough to communicate his attention because it’s honestly all he can manage at this point. “Dean, you’re f-fucking your little brother.”

 

Jesus Christ. Dean’s orgasm blinds him, literally and figuratively, tears mixing with sweat in his eyes. He bites Sam’s collar bone and that’s definitely going to leave a mark tomorrow, and Dean’s glad. There’s another burst of wetness between them as Sam comes a second time, strangling Dean’s dick with his clenching ass and Dean’s neck with his arms, squeezing and milking the life out of him.

 

When they’re done coming, the heat rushes in, one beat, two beats, three… like it was waiting for them all this time, biding its time before claiming them both. Dean feels genuine panic and he thrashes about, needing to get out of the sleeping bag, out of the heat, "Sam, Sam SAM!”

 

“Shhh,” Sam is unzipping them, thank God. Dean falls off Sam and into the cool air of the tent. They lie sprawled and naked, arms touching and laugh softly in the dark with dizzying relief. Dean can actually see vapor rising off their bodies.

 

They can’t sleep naked curled together because of their father, but the only concession Dean is prepared to make is the addition of a few clothes. They sacrifice a towel to clean themselves up, Sam shy but grinning when he wipes away the mess running between his legs. Dean gets one sleeping bag opened up over them and he thinks he’ll get the other one later, when they’re cool again, if they’re ever cool again. Sam pushes his feet between Dean’s calves and this time they’re warm, and Dean holds onto him like he’s never going to let go.

 


End file.
